


Not that pretty

by S_Horne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baby Peter Parker, M/M, Panic Attacks, Protective Steve Rogers, Superfamily, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 05:29:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16235129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Horne/pseuds/S_Horne
Summary: “Pretty.” Peter tapped the arc reactor in Tony’s chest with a clumsy hand and Tony smiled. It wasn’t pretty by any means, but the light was a cool colour at least. And it worked as a damn good nightlight for the kid too. In the two years that they’d had Peter, it had been their most effective tool for getting the little boy to sleep.Peter’s eyes were already closing and his head dropped onto Tony’s chest. He stroked over the light again as he spoke, speech soft and slurred with sleep.“I want one.”Tony froze instantly, the words hitting him like ice cold water. Flashes of memories stormed through his head, one after another after another. Images of tunnels and dark and then a sudden bright light in his eyes as he fought against pain and exhaustion and pain to stay awake. There was someone talking in the background, some foreign language that he couldn’t make out. It was angry, he knew that much. Another angry voice yelling something and then more pain. Oh god, the pain. He wasn’t getting out. Tony wasn’t getting out of this; any of this.Only it wasn’t him anymore. It was Peter.





	Not that pretty

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic is a panic attack about Tony's cave experience, with a little bit of fluff at the end.

“Pretty.” Peter tapped the arc reactor in Tony’s chest with a clumsy hand and Tony smiled. It wasn’t pretty by any means, but the light was a cool colour at least. And it worked as a damn good nightlight for the kid too. In the two years that they’d had Peter, it had been their most effective tool for getting the little boy to sleep.

Peter’s eyes were already closing and his head dropped onto Tony’s chest. He stroked over the light again as he spoke, speech soft and slurred with sleep.

“I want one.”

Tony froze instantly, the words hitting him like ice cold water. Flashes of memories stormed through his head, one after another after another. Images of tunnels and dark and then a sudden bright light in his eyes as he fought against pain and exhaustion and  _ pain _ to stay awake. There was someone talking in the background, some foreign language that he couldn’t make out. It was angry, he knew that much. Another angry voice yelling something and then more pain. Oh  _ god, _ the pain. He wasn’t getting out. Tony wasn’t getting out of this; any of this.

Only it wasn’t him anymore. It was Peter. 

It was his baby. Tony’s baby boy who was nothing but innocence and smiles and sunshine sent down to brighten the entire earth. 

Peter on that table. Peter in a cave with knives and darkness and strangers. It was his baby who was being turned into a monster, who was having his innocence and his freedom and his whole damn life ripped from him. 

Oh god. Tony could feel the tell-tale signs of a panic attack. As he tried to take in huge lungfuls of air he felt his throat close, the smells of that damp cave coming back to him and flooding his nostrils. It was dusty. It was damp and cold and there was dirt flying up his nose and clogging his throat. 

And Peter was there. Peter was trapped in the cave. Stuck down there in the dark twisting tunnels with no natural light and no way out. Stuck with the guns and the enemy and the dark. Oh, it was so dark. 

And it was Tony’s fault. His boy was going to die and it was his fault.

Tony hadn’t had an attack like this in a long time. It was everywhere, taking over ever part of his body and his mind. There was no way of pulling himself out and he wanted to scream. He wanted to cry and kick and save Peter.

Because that was all Tony was good for. That was all that was left in his life that he couldn’t ruin. He could never ruin Peter. 

But his mind was racing away and flooding his brain with images of peter with an arc reactor. Of Peter going through open heart surgery with nothing but the pain to knock him out. Pictures of Peter hooked up to a car battery, every breath he took enough to make his eyes stream with pain and his chest contract tightly. 

His baby. Tony’s baby who was nothing but smiles and laughter and big, bright eyes ruined in an instant. And why? Because they wanted Tony. 

“Hey, baby.” There was a soft voice, one so much different to the harsh barks going through his mind. This one was velvet, smooth like caramel and as soft as a pillow. It cut through the angry shouting and the pain and it reached somewhere deep inside of Tony, settling something calmly. “Come here. Let’s take you to bed, hm? Your new big boy bed.” 

Hands. Big, soft hands reaching down and lifting Peter from his chest. Tony wanted to scream, to hold him close and protect him from the world, but something stopped him. This voice, those hands. They would help him. They would save Peter. Tony let his son go, still struggling for breath. He gasped for air in a wild panic, tears leaking out from his eyes as he mouthed Peter’s name over and over again. 

_Not_ _him,_ he begged anyone that was listening, _anyone but him_. 

“That’s right, Peter,” that lovely voice was saying. “Off to your new big bed. Just close your eyes, baby. Papa’s got you.” 

“Peter,” Tony gasped. But there was nothing. He was alone. Tony was all alone and Peter was gone. Peter was off in the cave on the table with a fucking thing in his chest and wires and - 

No, he wasn’t. Peter was down the hall. Tony could hear a faint sort of humming over the buzzing in his ears, could just make out the tune of a lullaby. Or was it? Was it a lie? 

Peter was there in the enemy territory with hands on him and blood dripping onto the dirty floor, his mind playing tricks on him and his consciousness slipping. 

“Hey.” There was that voice again. That soft, sweet voice. Tony reached for it, did his best to follow it. “Hey, Tony. It’s alright. You’re safe, Peter’s safe.” 

And that was what he needed. Peter was okay.  _ Fight _ , he told himself.  _ Get out of there. Follow the voice. Peter’s safe _ . 

Tony fought as best he could. He gasped for air and reached out blindly, his hands hitting someone else. Before he could react, his hands were being held by someone else’s. Soft, warm skin was stroking over his ice cold and calloused fingers, warming him right down to his toes.

“You’re okay, my darling. You’re not there anymore. You’re home. You’re home with me and Peter. Peter’s in his room. He’s just down the hall, still a baby and still perfectly safe.”

“Reactor,” Tony tried to say, his fingers tightening around those in his grasp. “They’ve got–”

“Shush, sweetheart. They haven’t got anyone.” 

And Tony wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe it so badly, but it had seemed so real.

“I promise you, tony. Peter’s safe and in bed.”

“His big boy bed.”

Laughter. There was never laughter in the cave. Not soft, sweet laughter. Not punched out of someone like that sound was, high and huffed like it was completely involuntary. 

“Yes, Tony,” that voice said, so warmly, so amused. “His big boy bed. Because he’s a big boy now.”

No, he wasn’t. Peter was still so young. Still innocent. Still a baby, unblemished by sins. Not like Tony. 

“He’s in his bed. I swear, darling. Come back to me. Come back to us.”

And Tony had to, didn’t he? When he was asked so nicely, he had no choice. He took a deep lungful of air, nearly choking at the sensation of his lungs actually being full and working properly, before he settled into regular breathing. His vision was still blurred, but he could at least make out the shape of someone in front of him. 

Steve. Because of course it was. Who else would it be? 

It was always Steve. 

“Hey.”

Tony dropped further into the couch as his muscles dropped their tension. “Hi.” His voice was raspy, dark with exhaustion as he panted. 

“You back with me?”

“They had him,” Tony said instead of answering. He dropped his gaze to his hands held steady between Steve’s and tried not to break down again. “It was him on the table, in the cave. Him with the–”

Tony broke off and Steve was there immediately, surging forward and pulling Tony into his hold. 

“It wasn’t,” Steve whispered, repeating it again and again. “It will never be him.” 

“What if it is?” Tony couldn’t let it go, would never get that image out from behind his eyes. “What if one day–”

“Never,” Steve swore vehemently, horror clear in his own voice, and  _ God _ , Tony wanted to believe him. Could believe him, actually, and that was terrifying in itself. Tony believed that Steve could actually stop the world from spinning if Peter asked for it. “I swear to you, Tony, never.”

“He wanted one.”

Steve shuddered against him and Tony couldn’t have stopped his tears if he’d tried. Years and years of repressing any emotion ever and he’d been fine. Two years with a kid and he was all over the place, tears falling from his eyes most damn weeks.

Just imagining Peter with something shoved inside of him, a piece of metal crushing his ribs and blocking his breathing, hot and cold all at the same time and restricting his every movement made him want to vomit. Made him want to run and scream. To lock Peter away like... well, like he had been, he supposed. Just like the cave, but with less horror and more comfort. Hide him away from the world and from danger. 

“It’s just pretty,” Steve said and Tony couldn’t stop his snort. “That’s why he wants it, because it’s pretty. He wants to be like you, sweetheart, big and strong and a superhero.”

“Not him,” Tony said, whispered into Steve’s neck as his hands gripped Steve’s shirt hard enough to pull the stitching from the seams. “Not him, Steve. Not Peter, not ever.”

“Okay,” Steve said and held Tony ever closer, cupping the back of his head gently. “He won’t be, sweetheart. We’ve got this, you and I. We’re gonna keep him safe.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I promise you; Peter is as safe as anything. I will never let anything happen to him, or you ever again.”

It was a lie, of course it was. The lives they led could never allow for such a promise to be made, but damn it if Tony’s stomach didn’t settle. Tony clutched Steve and let himself fall into the embrace, bringing to the forefront of his mind a picture of his beautiful baby boy. A lovely image, one where he was laughing at something that wasn’t even funny, with his head thrown back and his pudgy fists waving in the air delightedly.

“Okay,” Tony whispered, “okay.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr](http://s-horne.tumblr.com) where this is also posted


End file.
